A Last Request
by Morna
Summary: The last meeting between Ganondorf Dragmire and Queen Zelda after his defeat, and the difficult favor he asks of her. Does not occur within any particular game or timeline. Mild hints of Zelgan.


A Last Request

He was only a glowing pair of amber eyes and a flashing of white teeth amongst the darkness as he continued to huddle in the gloom. Chains rattled as he moved restlessly in his too small cell, and Zelda could feel the hairs rise on the back of her neck from his stare. Somehow despite his great size, he remained hidden from her searching eyes. The shadows clung to him like the shredded remnants of a royal robe.

"Was I not a worthy enemy?" he asked.

Zelda narrowed her eyes in thought, considering his words carefully before answering. "You were," she answered at last.

"Was I not a king?" Iron scraped across the stone floor as his chains slinked in time with his steps.

"Of the Gerudo, yes," she admitted hesitantly, fear and puzzlement fluttering in her stomach.

He stepped into the torchlight and leaned forward until his head pressed against the black iron bars of his cell. She looked up into his harsh, dark face to meet his gaze. He was trying to crush her with his sheer size by looming over her. "Then what right have you to make me a sacrifice for a group of dirty, blood thirsty peasants?"

"It is a public execution to atone for your crimes against my people," she hissed through clenched teeth.

"And who will atone for the crimes against mine? Your grandfather did not. Your father did not, and you will not. Call it what you like, but it is still nothing more than a spectacle for the masses." He sounded tired as he spoke as if he had explained this to her a thousand times.

"What befalls the Gerudo now is a result of your actions. Your greed and pride brought them to their knees." She stepped forward in an attempt to show him that she would not cower before him now.

Ganondorf sighed and shrugged his great shoulders in acceptance, the links of his chains creaked in protest. "You are right, but you have never asked what brought about my actions. What was the catalyst? You never answered my question, Zelda. What right do you have to judge me, sentence me, and condemn me to death?"

Silence filled the room to bursting before she spoke. "I am queen, and I must do what is right for my people," she said quietly.

"And I felt the same. My blood will not bring back your dead soldiers anymore than it will bring back my dead sisters. You know my execution will not be about justice. It will be about revenge and humiliation. Things of which I know quite a bit about," he said.

"What is your point?" she said angrily, frustrated at the truth in his words and the knot of guilt settling into her stomach. He shouldn't make her feel this way. He was Ganondorf Dragmire, and he had no right.

With a groan, he sank to his knees in front of her, his eyes now level with hers. "If you would be a queen and sentence me to die, I ask that you give me a death befitting my station and kill me now yourself."

She stepped back in shock and unconsciously gripped the handle of the dagger at her waist. "You can't be serious."

"I am," he replied and his eyes fell to her weapon. "You have the means right there. This can be quick and clean."

"I-I. . . " her voice died as her mouth went dry.

"You have never killed a man," he said casually, obviously not surprised. "Then it is fitting that I should be your first."

"No," she said, tightening her grasp on the hilt. "No," she repeated.

His shoulders sagged and his expression grew stony as he sat back on his heels. "You have wanted my death for so long and now that I am offering it to you, you do not have the courage to take it. I thought you were made of something stronger than that. You would have someone else do your dirty work for you. If you ever had any respect for me or sympathy for my people kill me now and be done with it."

She swallowed and tried to think. Why was she panicking? Where was her resolve when she needed it at last? Why was it failing her now?

"You know what they will do to me before the execution and what will happen to my body afterwards. If our circumstances were reversed I would grant you a clean, swift death. I swear it upon the soul of my mother," he continued, throwing his voice low and deep, almost pleading. Almost for the Gerudo never begged. It was the undertone in his voice that made her decide.

She licked her lips and loosened her fingers. Nodding, she stretched her hand out towards the door and undid the lock with a twist of magic. The tumblers clicked and the door swung inwards. The queen stepped into the cell with her prisoner and stood as close to him as she ever had.

Heat rolled off of his body and pressed against her as his breath brushed her cheek. Those golden, foreign eyes never broke contact with hers, refusing to let her look away from him.

"How do I know that this isn't trap?" she whispered, suddenly realizing how stupid this was. Something about him had drawn her down into this cell with him. Some unseen pull of destiny always threw them together.

"If it were I would have killed you by now. The time for games is over," he answered. "Unsheathe the knife and let me see its length."

With clumsy fingers, she slid it out, careful to keep a firm grip on it. It was lightweight, long, and slim. Impa had given it to her years ago for protection, and she had never gone without it.

He nodded in approval. "Good. Now aim the point at the center of my chest, below the sternum."

Her hand only shook slightly as she pressed the tip to specified spot. A spot of blood stained his shirt as the blade nicked his skin.

He let out a deep breath that stirred her blonde hair. "You will need to push it up and in at a slight angle."

She adjusted her hold and lifted her wrist a bit.

"Yes, like that. Put all of your strength behind it and push it in as quickly as possible."

A shaky breath escaped her lips. "Are you sure?" she asked, hoping he would back out.

"Yes. Do it, and let's be done with this."

Her fingers flexed one last time as she prepared herself. Then she drove the blade up and in like he had instructed, and as she did so, he leaned forward slightly and pressed his lips against hers.

The breath caught in her throat and without thinking, she reciprocated. Warm blood ran down her whitened knuckles as they brushed against the soaked front of his shirt. It was sickening how easily the blade has parted the skin. She tasted his blood on her lips as she pulled away to look at him.

He gave a weak laugh that ended in a gasping cough. "Thank you," he sighed as his eyelids fluttered and he slumped over onto his side.

The blade fell from her numb fingers to clatter violently on to the floor in a spreading pool of his blood. She staggered away from his limp body until her back hit the wall of his cell. Then her knees gave out, and she crumpled in on herself. Her fingertips pressed against her cheek smearing his blood and feeling hot tears streaking down her face. She was crying, and she did not know why.


End file.
